Immigrant

I received a letter a couple of days ago. It said that I'd be expected at an examination for the intensive Finnish course I hope to take.

I didn't really know what to expect. The employment office had said nothing about "testing" when I was there applying for the course. They mentioned an interview, for which I have an appointment on Monday, but nothing about this. I was a little nervous.

Rami and I arrived at his alma mater, which was also where the testing would take place, this morning at 9:00 sharp. There were roughly 100 people crammed into a small hallway near the auditorium. Most spoke Russian. Then, a woman began addressing us in Finnish and calling us by name into the auditorium. I was afraid that she wouldn't speak in anything but Finnish and that I'd fail to understand some crucial thing. This wasn't the case, though. When we were all seated, she began to address us in three languages: Finnish, English, and Russian. She seemed adept, perhaps even fluent, in all three.

I don't think I did very well on the test, which I suppose is a good thing in terms of getting into this course. Of the more than 100 people who applied, only 28 will be chosen. On what criteria I'm not really sure, though I guess it has something to do with need. I felt so inept and stupid, though, since a lot of the Russians around me seemed a little more comfortable with the material. Rami suspects they've been in the country for a while and have thus learned more Finnish.

It's a unique and strange experience for me, not being totally proficient in the language that surrounds me. I cannot speak for myself, I cannot understand through my own efforts. I'm truly an immigrant. It's frustrating, to say the least. In fact, I don't even belong to the immigrant community, since even they tend to share a common culture and can therefore stand in unity while immersed in a foreign one.

But, whether I get into the course or not, there's only one thing to do, and that is to try my best. In all things Finnish.

Miscellaneous

Here are some updates:

1) After two and a half weeks of being here, I have a job teaching an English conversation course. It seems there's a pretty significant need for English teachers here, particularly for conversation courses. This is probably because lots of Finns have a good academic understanding of English, but no forum in which to practice.

I'm immeasurably lucky that English is my native language and that English is currently the lingua franca. I come to appreciate this more with each step I take towards assimilation here in Finland.

2) I received a call today from a nurse at the neurologist's office. I have two free months of my medication waiting for me there. I am as thankful and as shocked as can be. I'm not used to benevolent doctor's offices bestowing charity on me. Rather, I'm used to assholes who ignore me and wrong me and make grievous errors, all at huge expense. Thank you, nurse, and thank you, Finland. You have given me the best sort of culture shock.

3) Rami and I were approached by two Mormons on the street today. Rami says he's seen a lot of Mormons here over the years, and that they always appear in pairs. They looked very, very young, and they're no doubt Americans on a mission. From the little snippet of religious babble we heard one of them speak, it seemed as if he spoke Finnish pretty decently. I wondered if maybe I should have been a Mormon missionary and taken advantage of their language training.

I regret not saying, "Hello, I'm American, too!" Surely two kids here on their own, enduring scowls and rude brush offs day after day would appreciate seeing and hearing someone from their homeland. I decided against it, though, because I didn't want to encourage them to pursue my conversion. My heart is as hard as a rock and a hard place. Still, I can't help feeling that my reasoning was, forgive me, "unchristian." If I see them again, I'll give them some love from an eastern elitist.

Verve

I named this blog after a dreamy psychedelic shoegaze tune by The Verve (then simply called Verve).



I heard this song on Pandora years ago, and it led me to discover the beautiful and surreal album on which it can be found, A Storm in Heaven.

I chose it primarily because of how anxious I was to arrive here in Finland; I was still mired in schoolwork and I felt weighted by countless unfulfilled obligations. In a word, I was restless. "Already There" seemed to describe my state-of-mind with a certain precision.

Now that I'm here, it's the music rather than the title that seems to encapsulate things, namely the utter surreality of my life. I had other plans, other ideas, other goals and other values not two years ago. My life is wholly different than I ever imagined it would be at this or any other point in my life. In a sense, I feel as if I haven't affected this reality whatsoever, and that I'm just surfing a current of random chance. Of course, that's completely false, but knowledge of my own action doesn't lessen this surreal feeling. For the last week or so, I've been reveling in the odd limbo in which I'm floating now.

There's a note of bitter somewhere in the midst of all that sweet, but it's okay.

I'm Scared to Speak to Anyone

It's something I've struggled with before, back when I was only a tourist here. I'm afraid to use what little Finnish I know. What if it comes out garbled? What if I say "kylla" instead of "kyllä," or "muta" instead of "mutta" ? Clearly, this is something I'll have to overcome, and quickly.

I've been studying Finnish a little on my own with a beginner's textbook (that's oppikirja) that I bought while still in The States. I'm proud of the modest progress I've made as well as overwhelmed with how much there is still to learn. Finnish doesn't belong to the Indo-European language tree (as does English), and is instead Finno-Ugric. As you might imagine, this makes for a real dissimilarity between English and Finnish.

Fortunately for me and for all would-be Finnish learners, the language makes a lot of logical sense. It's really just that damn linguistic barrier between Finnish and my native language that makes learning it so difficult. It's been fun for Rami and me to go through it together, though; I read dialogues aloud from the oppikirja, piece together the meaning and attempt to wrap my head around verb conjugations and noun suffixes. He fills in the gaps. If it weren't a pursuit of such import to me, it would be a fun intellectual challenge.

The problem is, I find it hard to imagine a time when I'll feel equipped to actually use Finnish. It's not just Finnish I'm reticent to speak, though; I'm equally afraid of speaking English. I hate the idea of seeming like an ethnocentric American who thinks she can survive with English because "everyone here can speak it so well!" I mean, it's certainly true that the Finns generally tend to speak English quite well, but I don't want to rely on their skills to make up for my lack of facility with their language. If I really want to assimilate as seamlessly as possible, I have to learn Finnish as well as possible. I just wish I knew how "well" is possible for me.

Shocker

So I've been trying to secure Kela coverage for my Avonex. It's been a bit of a battle in that we were given some wrong information regarding what was required. I'll likely have to pay out of pocket for two months worth of the stuff. This was something I was prepared for, though, so although it is a "worst case scenario" sort of situation, it appears to be one I can handle. Plus, I'll be reimbursed most of the money I'll shell out.

Instead of dwelling on this setback, however, I'd like to mention something that nearly caused me to faint in shock. When I went to the doctor to get a referral to a neurologist at a medical center here in Lappeenranta, I brought about a hundred euros in cash with me. Since I'm not covered by the national social security system yet, I thought I'd have to pay a ton of money out-of-pocket. When they handed me a bill, which I had fourteen days to pay, it read 27 euros. The receptionist explained that this cost covered doctor's visits for the entire year, and would include all of the offices in the Southern Karelia region.

Yep, I love Finland for that alone.

Hard

I haven't written in a while due to being busy with preparing to leave the country and all. The last month has involved seeing a lot of family and friends and saying a lot of deeply painful goodbyes. The ironic and bittersweet connection and reconnection with many in my social network caused me to feel both closure and regret. I hadn't really anticipated that.

I thought as soon as I boarded the plane I'd feel some relief from the sadness pangs; having goodbyes said and security dealt with was my primary focus. I was half right. The plane ride was easy. I couldn't wait to land. Let's get all this travel over with and start building a new life, I thought. Landing was easy, too. Our bags were among the last to emerge, and I felt as if I had been spared the hugely stupid struggle of hunting for all my earthly possessions. I napped fitfully on the car ride to Lappeenranta. I dreamed a little of home and family. Things began to seem scarier -- more daunting than they ever had before.

I knew this feeling would come, but I wasn't prepared for it. I'll be helpless until I have even a rudimentary grasp of Finnish and, even then, I will never, ever be able to communicate as effortlessly as I can with English. I'll be starting over almost from scratch socially speaking as well. Of course, I knew all this long before embarking on the move. I even knew that I would feel sad and helpless and scared. Even so, it was a thing both inevitable and miserable, and it had to happen shortly after landing.

Today, though, I feel much better. Walking around Lappeenranta to see all of my favorite summer sights and studying a little Finnish seemed to pull me out of the funk I felt. I'm still frightened -- it would be pretty stupid if I weren't -- but things are back in perspective.

I'll be writing about my new life here (adjustments, fears, successes, culture, and, of course, cuisine) from now on. I plan to update regularly and often. Watch out.

Depraved

Well, I'm writing a pretty filthy prose poem that reenvisions the immaculate conception as not so immaculate. [Edit: My religions expert sister-in-law tells me that "immaculate conception" refers to Mary's lack of original sin rather than Jesus' birth. Rookie mistake, and my apologies.] I'm trying to make it satirical so as to avoid the likely pitfalls of having it come across as overly sentimental, purposely shocking, pornographic, or overtly feminist. The thing is, even if no one ever reads it and I am too mortified to ever show it to another human being (this is highly, highly probable), it's still fun to write.

In a sense, though, it is a rather feminist undertaking. I initially thought to myself, in somewhat biblical language, "Why should God have thrust unto Mary all consequence and no pleasurable causation?" Throw the girl a bone, as it were. She's the mother of your child. Oh, because she ought to be above pursuing her baser imperativ-- excuse me, desires?

This is precisely where the atheist and the religious person differ; if there is no god, there is no impetus to deny one's sexuality in adherence to a divinely structured morality. By extension, there is no reason to avoid deriving enjoyment from sexuality. Given that sex is a healthy biological function, it's an understandably uncomfortable thing to forgo. If there is no exterior motivation to abstain (we have the technology to remain relatively safe these days and, in this particular case, I doubt that the lord has any STIs), why would you? From my perspective of disbelief (and non-motherhood, to boot!), it seems unfair to ask a young woman to bear a child without that most fundamental biological bribe.

The virgin birth myth is not one that began with Christianity, however, so apparently lots of women around the mediterranean were once impregnated without so much as one lousy caress. There's something funny -- in both the "comical" and the "weird" senses of the word -- about that. I'm going to explore it in my super secret prose poem.